


kiss me, whisper, make me new

by nameless_bliss



Series: In Progress [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Early Relationship, Even for him, First Time, Frottage, In which Patrick says "David" a ridiculous number of times, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer Deserves Nice Things, Present Tense, Queer Feelings, Sex Talk, Sexual Content, Tenderness, Unprofessionalism in the Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: He should stop. Patrick knows he should stop. Hell, he knows he should have stopped a good ten minutes ago, at this point.But he doesn’t want to stop, is the thing.Besides, he’s not even sure he would know how to at this point. He doesn’t remember the words for… that, for whatever he was just thinking. He’s sure there’s a word for it, but it’s one of the words that his brain has long-since shoved aside to make room for more important ones, likeoh my god holy shit harder more please please please,and,David.Most importantly, David.Or, Patrick learns how to want.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: In Progress [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146452
Comments: 61
Kudos: 392





	kiss me, whisper, make me new

**Author's Note:**

> So. Since I first started writing Schitt's Creek fic, I've had many ideas for things I want to write about Patrick's experience learning (and un-learning and re-learning) about sex through his relationship with David. I started and subsequently scrapped at least five different fics, reworked them into different ideas, then combined them all into one incredibly messy longfic, and it always fell apart before I could finish it. 
> 
> And eventually, I realized that that's because learning (and un-learning and re-learning) about sex is an ongoing process that never really 'ends', so trying to create a linear narrative and tack some sort of conclusion onto any of my fic ideas felt awkward and forced, like, "Ta da! He's done now." I couldn't figure out how to make it work. 
> 
> So instead, I've decided to break up that single fic into individual stories, each one focusing on a different thing that Patrick learns about himself and his experience with sex. This series won't necessarily be chronological, or linear, and it won't have an ending, because learning about yourself is always a work in progress. 💜💜💜

He should stop. Patrick knows he should stop. Hell, he knows he should have stopped a good ten minutes ago, at this point.

But he doesn’t want to stop, is the thing.

Besides, he’s not even sure he would know how to at this point. He doesn’t remember the words for… that, for whatever he was just thinking. He’s sure there’s a word for it, but it’s one of the words that his brain has long-since shoved aside to make room for more important ones, like _oh my god holy shit harder more please please please,_ and, _David._ Most importantly, David.

“David.”

The moment it’s out of his mouth, David moans against his neck, which is… something. It’s another word he can’t be bothered to remember right now, but it’s one of the good ones, that’s for sure. 

“David,” he whispers again, and this time it makes _him_ moan, which is… something… else. He tilts his head back and says it again, he says “David,” in his weak, broken voice, just to see if it still— 

And it does. Patrick doesn’t know what it _is,_ but it happens again. Something tightens in his gut and spreads up to his chest and squeezes the air out of his lungs. 

“David,” he whimpers.

David muffles a helpless, _gorgeous_ noise against Patrick’s skin. His hips jerk forward, and the sudden contact is heaven, it’s _heaven—_

But David stops himself right away, like he’s done every other time tonight. Like he’s done every other time they’ve been in this situation: pressed together in the stockroom after hours, desperately pretending neither of them have cocks at all, much less ones that are rock hard in their pants (or, in David’s case tonight, skirt—which is… which requires several more words that Patrick’s dick-addled brain can’t come up with right now). Everything about this is completely ridiculous for two grown-ass men in their place of business. Which makes it all the more pathetic that this is probably the fifth or sixth or thousandth time in the past four days that they’ve found themselves in this exact situation. 

So when David politely pulls back yet again, Patrick decides enough is enough. 

“David,” he says, more firmly than before. And with a confidence that’s fueled entirely by horny desperation, he grabs David’s ass with both hands and pulls him forward, so his cock is pressed against Patrick’s where it goddamn belongs. He’s ready. He took his time, they took it slow, and this is new and he’s absolutely terrified and so, so ready. He’s never been so terrified or so ready for anything, he’s never needed anything so much.

David makes a noise that whites out everything that’s ever been in Patrick’s brain, and for a glorious moment it seems like they’re getting somewhere… 

Until David pulls away. Again. 

“Um,” he says quietly, lifting his face away from Patrick’s neck, “this is kind of a lot? I just—”

Oh, shit.

“Shit,” Reality comes crashing in, and Patrick lets go of David’s ass and tries to push himself further against the wall to create some space between them. “I’m sorry, this is too much, I shouldn’t—David, I’m sorry—” 

David shakes his head in a way that is somehow very loud. “No, you’re… good. You’re much better than good, you’re—” he clears his throat and shakes his head again, this time dismissive and adorable. His hands have been clutching Patrick’s shoulders since this started, but now he lets them drop gently into the crooks of Patrick’s elbows. “This is—this feels… somewhat faster than slow. Which is fine, this is fine, and slow is fine, whatever you—it’s all fine. It’s just, we’re getting closer to an ending that is much less ‘slow’ than the other times we’ve done this, and I want to do the—I want to be responsible here, and. Make sure you’re aware of that. Before it happens.”

There’s nowhere near enough blood left in Patrick’s brain for him to be able to understand that right away. But once he catches up, he grins. “So what you’re saying is, you’re getting close to something?” 

David rolls his eyes. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, David,” Patrick says in his best Serious Voice, like someone who isn’t a light breeze away from coming so hard it kills him. “I just want to make sure I understand. So if you could please clarify what exactly you’re getting _close_ to, that would—” 

“Oh my _god._ ” David squeezes his eyes shut. “We are _both_ very close to having our first orgasms with each other, in the stockroom, in our pants.”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

David takes a step back so he can flail to the full extent of his high-pitched frustration. “Okay, I was trying to start an important dialogue here, but you know what? It doesn’t actually matter, because the more you talk, the less I want to have sex with you. So.”

Patrick laughs as he reaches for David’s hips and slowly, gently reels him back in. “I’m sorry. Please start your important dialogue, David. I’m listening.”

There’s a moment where it looks like David might not let himself be pacified, but eventually his pout softens into something more serious. “I’m just trying to say that this… this is—it’ll—hm.” His gaze wanders away from Patrick’s, looking at his shoulders, his arms, anything less direct. “I don’t know if you had—Some people think it’s a big deal. I’m not saying it _has_ to be, but some people want it to be,” he waves a hand between them, “special, or whatever. And before this gets too far, I want to make sure you realize that this might not… That this is dry humping? In a storage closet? I just don’t know if you wanted something a little nicer, for our—” he rolls his eyes, trying to brush off what he’s saying before he’s even let himself say it, “you know, our. First time, or…” he shakes his head. 

Patrick feels his hands tighten on David’s hips, and it takes all his strength (a very limited resource, right now) to loosen his grip. He’s not sure how to handle all of that. It’s more than he was expecting, and like many things David has said before, it clearly matters so much more than he’s willing to admit. David doesn’t want to care about this.

So Patrick is going to take it off his hands, and care about it enough for the both of them. And in this case, that means he needs to be honest. So he steadies his trembling hands, and he pretends to be braver than he is, and he tells the truth. 

“David, I’m gay. I’m attracted to men.”

David blinks, clearly thrown by that turn in the train of thought. “Okay.”

Patrick tries to keep his voice even. “And I’ve never been with a man before.”

David shakes his head. “I know, that’s my point. If you wanted… _more_ for your first—”

“No, David,” Patrick interrupts gently, “I mean.” He takes a breath. “I didn’t know, back then. I never realized at the time that anything was missing. I thought that was how everyone felt, and it was fine, so I told myself I was fine with it, and. And I didn’t know that it could be different. I never knew that I could want someone, like this.”

It takes a moment, but then, he can see it sink in. He can see it soften David’s face. “Oh.”

Patrick makes himself smile, but it feels like a fragile thing. He’s not quite sure how to say all of this, he doesn’t know how to explain how this feels, how he can be so overwhelmed and so certain, how the simplicity of _this_ —dry humping in a storage closet, gracelessly side-stepping the big, terrifying new world ahead of him and being allowed to just come in his pants like the horny teenager he never got to be—makes it less frightening, makes it feel possible. How being scared to let David see how much he wants this somehow makes him feel safer than he did in any other sex he’s had. He doesn’t know how to say that in a way that someone else will understand. 

But this is David, and David deserves the best Patrick can give. So he steels himself, and he tries. “I don’t know how you were hoping for our first time to go. And if you want something else, we can wait, for as long as you want.” He rubs his fingertips along the bottom of David’s sweater, focusing on the feeling of the fabric against his skin. “But for me, I can’t imagine anything better than being here, in our store, and wanting someone for the first time in my life.”

He feels light. Weightless. Like he gave away too much, and now there’s not enough left to keep him on the floor. He feels like he can’t get it back, and he’s going to lift up and get swept away— 

David holds his arms. Right before Patrick can float away, David takes hold of him, and anchors him down. He doesn’t smile, but also, he kinda does. His eyes crinkle in the corners and his lips tuck to one side, dimpling his cheek (god, Patrick wants to kiss that dimple, it’s right at the top of his ‘Places on David that Need to Be Kissed’ list, tied for first place with every other part of David’s body). David kind-of smiles, and Patrick kind-of smiles with him. 

“Well,” David says softly, “when you put it like that.” He gives Patrick’s arms a little squeeze, and leans in— 

“Wait.” Patrick tilts his face out of David’s path (though his dick is _very_ unhappy about it). “What about you?”

David frowns. “What about me what?”

“Is this alright for you? How did you want our first time to go?”

Somehow, David’s frown manages to deepen. “Oh.” He looks almost confused, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “No, no this is—this is good.”

“David.” Patrick nudges David’s hips, making him step back far enough for Patrick to really look at him. “Is this how you _want_ this to happen?”

“I—” David starts, but then he clamps his mouth shut. He keeps frowning as he thinks for a few moments, then he tosses his head. “Sex is imperfect, especially firsts, and making some sort of—having an _ideal_ just creates a standard for you to inevitably not meet. It’s setting yourself up for failure.”

He stops, and Patrick says, “Okay.” But he doesn’t move, because he can see that David isn’t done. Patrick can see the determination in his furrowed eyebrows, the little movements of his lips like he’s rehearsing the words before he commits to saying them. Patrick can see the work, he can see every bit of effort this is taking. So he keeps his hands gentle on David’s hips, and he waits for him.

“But—” David clears his throat. “But,” he tries again, a little stronger this time, “if there were—if I did have some sort of _hope,_ ” his lips purse around the word, like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He looks down at the tiny patch of floor between their feet. “If there were an ideal way I wanted a ‘first time’ to go, I think the biggest part of it would—would be… being with someone who asks me that question. So, um.” He hums, and tosses his head dismissively. 

Oh.

Patrick reminds himself to breathe. “David—”

“Mm-mm.” David shakes his head again. He looks skittish, ready to bolt rather than having to survive in this moment any longer. 

And Patrick wants _so badly_ to revel in it, to pull David close and never let go and thank him for being so brave—

But he’s not an idiot. He sees the look on David’s face, the misery that comes with saying these soft, lovely things that he wishes weren’t true. 

So this time, Patrick decides to be nice. He slips his hands underneath the hem of David’s sweater, fingers tracing against his skin. “David, can we have orgasms now?”

Relief breaks across David’s face like a goddamn sunrise, or a flower blooming, or some other metaphor Patrick can’t come up with because he doesn’t know anything beautiful enough to stand a chance against David Rose’s smile. His eyes crinkle and his mouth splits open and the tension sloughs out of his shoulders and he _laughs—_ a quiet, punched-out sound that makes Patrick doubt the structural integrity of his knees. 

“Mm-hm, yes. Very much yes.” David shimmies his shoulders, and steps in close. 

They’re both laughing when their mouths meet, and Patrick’s newfound addiction to tasting David’s laughter makes even the softest brush of their lips go right through him, right to his dick. Patrick opens his mouth, gently encouraging David to do the same. He breathes deeply, trying to keep himself calm, trying to maintain some semblance of control, trying to keep this careful, slow— 

But then, Patrick abruptly realizes that they’re no longer operating under the rules of ‘slow’. Now, they’re operating under the rules of… of doing this, of not having to stop, getting to finish, getting off, he’s going to come, he’s going to come with _David Rose_ and the word ‘slow’ is suddenly foreign, meaningless, Patrick’s never heard it before and can’t be bothered to care. He gets his hands on David’s ass again, and he’s not shy at all as he pulls him in.

David goes so easily. He presses right up against Patrick, presses _everywhere,_ a dizzying amount of new contact. He shifts his legs apart a bit, and… 

_“David.”_

David slots their legs together. His hip gives Patrick’s cock the best friction he’s ever felt, friction that’s infinitely too good for the stupid amount of clothing between them. But what’s even more amazing is the feeling of David’s cock, _grinding_ against him. Patrick glances down between them, and the bulge in David’s skirt is enough to make his head spin. David feels so hard, he feels _huge,_ he feels hot even through their clothes, he feels impossible. He’s impossible, he’s too good to be real, this isn’t what sex feels like, this isn’t what _anything_ feels like. This is a wet dream, too intense and inevitable to be believed. But, no, even Patrick’s best wet dreams are never this good. His subconscious isn’t creative enough to come up with this. It’s too much. It’s the best orgasm of his life, and he hasn’t even had it yet. 

“David.”

He breaks away from David’s mouth just far enough to whimper it into the hot, wet air between them. _“David.”_

“Yeah,” David whimpers back—which shuts down the rest of Patrick’s very limited brain function. He kisses his way down Patrick’s jaw, latching onto his neck with tongue and teeth and Patrick should be worried about hickeys above his collar but also he wants that, he _wants_ a dark, ugly, beautiful mark, he wants a purple-red stain on his skin that says David Rose Was Here, he wants everyone who walks into the store to see, and to know that this happened, that Patrick is wanted, wanted by this beautiful man—

“Oh god, David, _David!”_ Patrick grips his ass even tighter and thrusts against the hard line of his hip. He tips his head back against the wall and pulls David against him and fucks—he _fucks_ his cock against David, and he doesn’t understand how he’s still alive, he doesn’t know how anyone can feel this much without dying on the spot. 

“Fuck, Patrick,” David groans against his throat. His hands are on Patrick’s chest, fingers clenched in his shirt like he wants to rip it open. And Patrick would let him, Patrick would love it, Patrick is suddenly drowning in sweat and he wants David to tear his clothes off and never let him get dressed again, why do they ever wear clothes?

“Patrick, god, _fuck—_ you’re gorgeous, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Patrick whines, and ruts, and god, this is it, isn’t it? It’s probably been less than thirty seconds, and this is already it. 

He should say something, right? A fair warning feels like… the polite thing to do. Patrick opens his mouth. “David—” _I’m so close._ “David—” _I’m going to come._ “David—” _I’ve never felt like this, it’s too good, I didn’t know it could really be like this._ “David—” _I didn’t know this was something I could have._

The words don’t come out, just, “David.” Again, and again, he moans, “David.”

David manages to get one of his hands between them. The contact burns like hot coals on Patrick’s stomach, his hip, his—

Oh, _god._

David puts his hand over Patrick’s cock. He cups him through his jeans, and he presses down with the heel of his hand.

Patrick makes the worst noise he’s ever heard. “Shit!”

David jerks back, recoiling his hand, “Sorry, is that too—”

“David!” Patrick grabs David’s hand and frantically shoves it back down to his cock and chants like a broken record, “David, David, DavidDavid _David—”_ as he thrusts against his palm and comes, and comes, and… 

“David.”

His legs don’t work. Shit, his whole body doesn’t work. All of his bones were just squeezed out through his dick; he’s shaking and gasping and he wants to give David a warning as his legs give out, but his throat isn’t working either. He just whimpers as he slides down the wall and crumples on the floor in a pile of gooey limbs. 

“Whoa, hey,” David grabs his shoulders, but it’s too late to catch him. He just follows Patrick down, kneeling in front of him on the dusty stockroom floor. “Was that… um. Was that okay?”

Okay.

Patrick tries to laugh. It’s wheezy, and gross, and he doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall while he waits for his lungs to remember how to do their job. “Yeah, it was fine,” he gasps. “Perfectly adequate.” He cracks one eye open— 

David is smiling, but he’s trying to hide it in one corner of his mouth. “Mm, ‘adequate’, that’s exactly what I was aiming for.”

Patrick laughs again, sloppy, stupid, drunk on the aftershocks of the impossible. “Satisfactory. Sufficient.” He flails an arm out, pawing toward David until he finds his knee— 

Shit. 

“Shit, _David._ ”

David’s skirt is rucked up his thighs, so when Patrick touches him it’s not fabric, it’s _skin,_ it’s bare, overheated skin, and coarse hair, and Patrick’s dick twitches in the mess in his pants like it already wants to go again, like he didn’t just come so hard it literally knocked him to the ground. He forces his stupid, useless body forward, until he has enough room to splay his hand on David’s leg. “David,” he pants, blinking through the haze of want stronger than anything he’s ever felt, “Can I…?”

David’s smile twists. He puts his hand on top of Patrick’s, and slowly, teasingly slowly, _torturously_ slowly, he guides Patrick up his thigh, under his skirt, higher, and higher, and… 

David leans in. “You certainly can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Penny & Sparrow.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I'd always love to hear from you, either here or over on my [tumblr](https://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/post/642375190544891904)! Wash your hands, check in with someone you love, and take care of yourselves!


End file.
